


Not A Word

by sadsparties



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Gen, Nonverbal Communication, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:13:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadsparties/pseuds/sadsparties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Enjolras and Combeferre don't talk... technically</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not A Word

Enjolras worked feverishly in the Musain, and by feverishly, it wasn’t in the frantic, excited sense but in the very literal sense. Enjolras had a fever. In fact, he had had one since yesterday and was under strict orders from Combeferre to not get out of bed; so when he saw his friend enter the cafe and make a beeline to their customary table, Enjolras steadied himself and pictured the impending argument.

What happened in his mind was this. Combeferre would stop in front of their table and stand stock still while appraising his friend. After completing his visual assessment, he would raise his right eyebrow in the beginning of an inquiry, to which Enjolras would clear his throat, not to gain his attention, but really to just clear his throat of the blockage beginning to collect there. Combeferre would take this clearing of throat as further evidence of the conclusion he’d made from his assessment earlier and would proceed to ask Enjolras why he was violating doctor’s orders when he’d precisely told him last night that his condition could get worse, to which Enjolras would reply that there was work to be done and that the republic could not wait, to which Combeferre would counter that there would be no point in a republic if its citizens could not afford themselves a simple day of rest. At this point, Enjolras would use arguments that Combeferre was sure to agree with and tell him that a day of rest is only afforded by the bourgeoisie and if every revolutionary with a burning forehead were to sit down, it may stop the progress of even the human race. But after three seconds of letting Enjolras relish the feeling that he had made a good point, Combeferre would note that by acknowledging that he  _had_  a burning forehead, Enjolras was in no position to deny his fever any longer so would he please let go of that pen he was trying to write with because his hand is already shaking and it was a waste of good paper and ink. At that, Enjolras would try to hide his disbelief that his friend would even remark on writing implements when his own health was on the line, which would then make him bolt upright with the realization that he himself acknowledged his illness.

All this reflection happened between the time Combeferre entered the Musain and the time he had stopped in front of their table and stood stock still while appraising his friend. The eyebrow was about to go up when Enjolras raised an appeasing hand. Both of them sighed then, one with resignation, the other with relief. A resolution had been made.

Bossuet, who had witnessed the entirety of the wordless conversation, fell off his seat.


End file.
